Vegetable Eyes
by pinkpower
Summary: In which Bobby's abuse on Fiona escalates out of control, leaving Fiona completely broken and Declan blaming himself. Rating for themes.


**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.**

Fiona Coyne sat on a poorly constructed metal chair, desiring nothing more than to shift her weight around in a miserable attempt to get more comfortable, but that was impossible. All she could do is gaze out the window for immeasurable, never-ending hours in that stupid chair, watching as the birds flew above the pure white clouds, and soar into the beautiful freedom of the wide, blue sky.

She wanted to be like them, and see something beyond the dull, ecru walls of her hospital room. But no, that beast had taken her chances of a happy life.

Bobby had expertly convinced Fiona that nobody, especially her family, would believe her should she decide to tell them about his acts of abuse—that she was insane and she was making it all up as a half-wit plot to get attention. So Fiona kept her countless bruises and scars a secret, hoping one of them would eventually notice the way her body ached. Nobody seemed to ever care that much.

Declan was constantly preoccupied with his budding relationship with Holly J, her dad was hardly ever around to notice the color of the sun, and her mom—well, her mom always went on about how Bobby and her daughter were such a perfect match and the very notion of breaking up with him was crazy,

And then she and Bobby got into another one of their daily arguments—ones that had become increasingly violent—over Bobby's lack of fidelity. . . Unfortunately for Fiona, Bobby chose to invade her only sanctuary—the school's roof. In a fit of rage, he ended up shoving Fiona. She hit her skull, damaging brain cells and functions to the body. Doctors said that Miss Coyne was pretty lucky to escape the incident with her life, but she didn't feel it. Who would if they had been rendered unresponsive and was assumed to be "brain dead?"

If only she could tell them all just how alive her brain still was. If only she hadn't been up on the roof that day, tempting fate as it was. If only she could move any part of her body again. If only Bobby had actually killed her that day instead of leaving Fiona as this waste of space. If only she could something other than feel sorry for herself all day!

"Hey, Fi. . ." She heard a shaking voice—Declan's—greet her softly. Fiona felt her wheelchair being turned around slowly, facing her to him and away from the window. Declan swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as he kneeled down in front of her. "Mom wanted to come see you today, but she was busy."

Fiona would have rolled her cerulean eyes at her brother, correcting him. Misses Coyne was too afraid to visit her daughter, to see her hooked up to all these machines and relying on tubes to help her breathe. She didn't blame her mother, though, for not being able to stomach the sight. It probably didn't do much for the morale.

Declan took his sister's pale hand in his as she stared passed him.

Unlike everybody else, he honestly believed that Fiona could still comprehend movements and words—that he hadn't completely lost all of her. However, some people—those people being distant relatives—had tried to make Declan see her reason; the doctors were right. They told him that Fiona might as well be dead; she couldn't do anything for herself, and probably couldn't muster up even an incoherent thought.

Fiona, meanwhile, could tell he was pained by her appearance. . . Her unblinking, faded blue eye with huge, dark circles decorating her eyelids, her ghostly white skin unable to shine in the florescent light of the hospital, and the vacant expression forever plastering her face. In the past, nurses had showed poor Fiona this image of her new self. She thought that she looked hideous now.

All Declan could see was broken perfection.

"Holly J and I broke up, by the way. Don't be upset for me, Fi. I ended it with her. Things just weren't working out," Declan told her, pressing her cold palm to his cheek.

Fiona wished she could fun her fingers through his coppery brown locks and comfort him. She wanted to ask him why he would do such a thing.

It was killing him—just as it killing her—that Fiona would probably never speak, never walked, never truly be herself again. Declan had come to regret spending the summer with Holly J, sending Fiona to the Hampton, all because he couldn't be asked to look after his own sister in her time of need. Instead of doing the right thing, Declan abandoned her for Holly J. Fiona's messed up state was his entire fault. But he would happily trade places with her.

"I can't live with knowing what that asshole did to you. It's my fault, Fi. I destroyed your faith in me the moment I chose Holly J over you." He reveled in the texture of her smooth, gentle hands. Declan wanted to scream out in agony, beg whatever higher force to reverse time so he could protect her from Bobby. "I'm so sorry, Fiona. I wish you could know just how sorry I am. Forgive me for everything I've done to you. You don't deserve to be here. _I_ do." Tears ran like waterfalls down his tan cheeks.

"Oh, Declan" Fiona wanted to say in her annoyed, but kind tone, "I never blamed you for what happened to me that day; not once. You thought it would be better for me in the Hamptons, and for awhile, I thought you had been right, too. You tried for me, Dec. That's what really matters."

"Fiona, you were the one good thing in my life—the _only_ person I could depend on. You meant more to me than all those girls, more than Holly J. And I screwed it all up! How could I forget how important you are to me? How could I have been so blind?" He stopped, looking deeply into Fiona's lifeless eyes. "I was so afraid of you, of me, of that kiss. . . I convinced myself that Holly J was worth losing you over. Fi-Fiona, I was wrong. I was _so_ wrong. I love you, the way a brother shouldn't love his sister."

She was certain of this confession pouring like rain from his deep aqua eyes was nothing but the truth. Fiona yearned to repeat the words to Declan, or at least find a way to soothe him.

Declan rose up slightly to bring his lips to her plump, chapped ones in a chaste kiss. Despite what fairytales drove children to believe, Fiona wouldn't awake from this hellish, open-eyed slumber. He had wealth and charm while Fiona was the gorgeous damsel in distress, but they would never be meant for a happy ending. . .

And then as Declan pulled away from Fiona, something miraculous suddenly started to happen. The corner of her mouth curved upward into a small, half-smile. Her first movement.

"Fiona? Fiona! I knew it! You _are_ here with me. . ." An exhale of relief escaped from him.

There was some hope for Fiona—that it was possible that she would progress. Never would she be a whole person again, but that's what having a twin is for.


End file.
